


The Only Blue That's Left

by breakingoftheshell



Category: Pitch Black (2000), Riddick (2013), The Chronicles of Riddick Series
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Feels, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Revised Version, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakingoftheshell/pseuds/breakingoftheshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riddick once knew a man named William J. Johns. He gets along with Johns' father better than he ever did with Little Johns. But Boss doesn't let sleeping dogs lie, and Riddick has to deal with a ghost walking up to shake his hand. He warns Boss that he's not going to be responsible for what happens; he's seen this kid from the inside out once already. But that was then, and this is now.</p><p>ETA: Revised October 2016</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Blue That's Left

**Author's Note:**

> So this, apparently, is the story I didn't know my heart was waiting to tell or some shit like that. I mean, I knew I always wanted to write a PB fic, but I never knew how... then bam. My Cole Hauser problem merged with my PB fic problem, and this came out. I will disclaim that, of course, I took creative license, especially since I never played Butcher Bay, so I don't actually understand how all that shit happened in canon. I've just inferred a lot of stuff.
> 
> Update 10/08/16 - This work has been revised. Nothing life changing. But I've done some tweaking, and I do think it reads better now. Then again, as the author, perhaps I'm the only one who notices these kinds of things. I hadn't intended to revise this piece at all, but it's actually one of my favorites, and the things that were wrong with it bothered me so much. Also, I want to write more in this universe (have written one scene, actually), so I wanted to be satisfied with the snippet of origin story I laid out for myself. ALSO, I have now seen the Butcher Bay "movie" on youtube and realize that this story is not at all canon compliant as far as that goes, but I don't really give a fuck. Cheers!

They've only had Johns back for a few months when it happens. They're after a mid-level bounty on another dusty backwater planet when the dumbshit cuts away from the rest of them on his hog and somehow corners the mark on his own. When they catch up to him, he has the guy knocked out and restrained, but he also has a busted, bloody leg. He's propped himself up against a canyon wall and torn open his pants at the knee to expose the bone that pokes through his skin. They come to a stop over him, and he looks up with clear eyes and grit teeth. But they all know the adrenaline will only last him so long.

* * *

Riddick was with the crew eight months before Boss told him they were gonna bring Johns back. Boss admitted that they'd found Johns' puddle jumper before they'd picked Riddick up the second time. They were able to salvage Johns' latest neuro-backup from it and started reconstruction almost immediately. He'd be ready soon.

Riddick almost left. Hell, he almost throttled Boss. No one pulled that kind of shit on him. But then he saw the look in Boss' eyes. There was no malice or fear. The concern was hard to make out, hidden as it was beneath better than a decade of grief, etched like wind tracks into the hollows of Boss' face. It was there though, and it hit Riddick hard enough that what was happening had to sink in. Boss was tip-toeing around the whole thing to keep Riddick from going off. Boss had let everything go on and on--let Riddick get more and more comfortable, and as he stood there in front of Riddick with that annoyingly paternal concern still on his face, Riddick understood. The setup they had was good. No one on the crew begrudged him his place. This didn't have to be temporary. That's what Boss had given him time to see.

So Riddick had to weigh the insanity of reviving a ghost against actually being wanted somewhere. He'd spent his whole adult life being actively hunted, and if not that, then just barely tolerated. Boss Johns and his crew were unlike anything he'd ever known. Luna wanted his advice. Dahl teased him and let him get away with touching her ass once in a while. And Boss... Boss trusted him. In an almost painful, accepting way. Like Riddick needed to be trusted, and Boss had a responsibility to do it. Almost like he had to give Riddick a chance, like he had to believe. Like he couldn't help but foster...

So really, there was no choice to make. If he'd managed not to kill Johns once, Riddick figured he could do it again. He told Boss though, in growling undertones, that he wasn't going to be responsible for what happened. He'd seen Little Johns from the inside out. He knew what was missing.

Boss just smiled sadly and shook his head. According to the log, the backup was from before Johns ever took on Riddick's bounty. This Johns would have never met Riddick. This would be the man that Boss knew. Things would be different. _Maybe_ , Riddick thought. Maybe if they'd never met before it would keep one of them from killing the other. Because from the finish of day one in the first go round, that had always been the way it was going to end.

When he arrived, the new Little Johns was as untarnished and glowing as his father had talked him up to be. Boss brought him onto the ship with an arm slung over his shoulders. Dahl squealed, _squealed_ before rushing him. She threw her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and Johns caught her with a laugh and a muttered, "Jesus." Dahl kissed him square on the mouth. He made a face and said, a little louder, "Christ." Dahl laughed too and dropped back to her feet. Once out of his arms, she punched him right in the stomach. He oofed, but it wasn't hard enough that he didn't smile.

"Love you too, bitch," he said.

"Do you even know how long it's been since I've hit you?" Dahl snickered.

"I've been given the short version," Johns said. "Sorry to die on you."

Dahl punched him a little harder this time. "Just don't make a habit of it."

Johns snorted and caught up with Boss where he waited with Riddick and the rest of the crew in the transport bay. Riddick perched sideways on a hog, coiled tight as a viper, and Johns came to a stop nearly beside him with no sign of recognition. His sharp eyes swept over the crew, and he offered a friendly nod to Jesse, who was a long timer like Boss. Boss, for his part, practically beamed.

"We've had a couple new additions," he said. "That's Luna. And this is Riddick."

Johns stepped forward to shake Luna's hand. Luna smiled in that sweet way he had, and Johns gave him an easy smile in return. Then he turned to Riddick. He held his hand out, and Riddick almost couldn't do it. He couldn't get over the clearness in those eyes and the perfect curls of hair. It was like falling backward in time to something utterly terrifying. Johns smile started to fade, but Riddick quickly clasped his forearm, a clean one that lacked the debt x-marks Johns had been sporting before he died. Johns nodded, expression tranquil, but his eyes went suspicious and calculating. Remote. Riddick found his smile at that. There was the deadly smart blue-eyed devil he knew.

"Good to meet you," Johns said, voice neutral.

Riddick's smile died. Because it just wasn't right--this stranger bullshit. He dropped Johns' arm. Johns stepped back in that lazily alert mode that only he could pull off. Boss cleared his throat.

"There were some things in the short version that didn't get covered," he said.

Riddick didn't hang around to hear what the long version entailed. He didn't jump ship, but he kept clear of the crew. Not that he'd been all that sociable to begin with. Problem was, the ship wasn't that damn big. Yet he still found ways to make himself scarce for days. Boss didn't say anything about it. Johns was merely practical if bemused whenever he and Riddick crossed paths. In the field, they worked well together--maybe even more efficiently than Riddick did with anyone else on the crew. Nothing got said between them that didn't absolutely need to be.

Johns, Dahl, and Luna, on the other hand, got on like a house on fire. Luna was finding his own stride now that he'd landed on a good crew, but he was still like everyone's little brother. One night, Riddick watched from the edge of a doorway as Dahl and Johns ganged up against Luna in some strategy game at one of the two tables in the galley. Luna started to make a bad move, and Johns calmly stretched a long arm across the table to swat Luna's hand away from the ill-advised game piece. Concentrating, Luna drew back and rethought it for half a second before taking another try. He got it right, and Johns reached across the table again, this time to ruffle the kid's hair. Luna grinned.

Then it was Dahl's turn, and her move took out both Johns and Luna. She reached for both of them too, using one hand on each of them to ruffle their hair so hard she nearly drove their respective heads into the tabletop. Luna made a tactical retreat, slinking under the table to escape while Johns went on the offensive, tackling Dahl right off the bench. She landed on the floor, laughing loud enough to wake up the members of the crew that were in cryo. Johns wrestled her for a few seconds before rolling to his feet and nudging at her with a boot. She tried to take him out with a kick aimed at the back of his knee, but he danced away with a grin and sat back down on the bench. Luna giggled at them. Johns reset the game, grinning, before he reached down to help Dahl off the floor. She plopped onto the bench next to him, and they started the game again.

There was more smiling. More laughing. More of Johns coaching Luna and offering gentle affection as a reward. Dahl kept instigating antics, and Johns kept letting himself get pulled in, and all the while, Riddick stood in the doorway, just watching. There wasn't a single sign of impatience from Johns--never a harsh word. Riddick should have turned away when he heard Boss coming up the corridor, but he didn't. Boss stood and watched with him for a while.

Then Boss said, "I forget sometimes that this is new for you. You never saw him this way."

Riddick parted his lips to breathe. He felt Boss looking at him, but he still didn't look away from the game. Johns was all low, smooth warmth.

"I have seen him this way," Riddick said finally. He turned to look at Boss. "This is how he caught me."

A lifetime ago, on some shithole, before Riddick had known Johns' name, Johns had set a trap with himself as bait. He'd eased up against Riddick the way no one else would dare, all non-threatening and unafraid. Just interested. Interesting. Golden and warm. Riddick had mouthed at the bait like any curious predator, and that hook was hidden good and deep. They closed the bar together and were bitching about dry hours just before Johns outed himself. The merc heard his own mistake and was ready when Riddick went at him with a shiv though. It was messy. Johns almost got him in it, but Riddick rabbited down an alley the moment he got Johns in the back. Even then, Riddick was disappointed about it. Johns had been a revelation. He hadn't set off any of Riddick's alarms. Hadn't been jumpy or smarmy or curious. Had been just the right amounts of righteous, jaded, and charming. Where other people were difficult, Johns had just seemed... easy.

They met again one time before the piece of shiv in Johns' back shifted and destroyed them both. So sure, there was a stabbing between them, but Johns wasn't suffering over it yet. He picked Riddick up on an urban trash heap, this time using good old fashioned merc tenacity. Riddick maybe went a little easy. He was impressed to have Johns back on his tail. He knew he'd missed the sweet spot, but it hadn't been by that much. He still found Johns interesting.

Johns threw him in his skiff and took off for a busy little double max on the edge of the system. The skiff was nicely outfitted for the work it was doing. Johns had a single mag-lock restraint chair right next to him in the cockpit, where he could keep a close eye on his catch. Riddick was locked in from ankles to collarbones for the whole ride. The only thing he was able to move was his head. There was a blindfold in the headgear on the chair, but Johns didn't use it. He was downright cheerful about the whole thing.

"Ain't like you haven't taken this ride before," he'd said.

They got stuck in a long landing pattern at the double max. Johns started to hum while they waited. He drummed his fingers against the console and thrummed, low and sweet. It was some asinine merc anthem, but Riddick had spent too much time on merc ships not to know it. He and Johns hadn't talked much up to that point--just another mutual bitch session really, about traffic controllers and having to be polite just because other people couldn't fly for shit. But as Johns moved from the opening chords to the first verse, Riddick started to hum with him. He wanted to see if it would unnerve the merc. And he wanted to show him just how much he didn't care. This was all the same song and dance to him. Same slam, different day.

But Johns just smiled. He didn't even turn his head. He just smiled out the viewport and kept humming. So Riddick kept humming with him. They went through the whole song. Sometimes Johns parted his lips and crooned--still no words but there was real voice in it, freed from being trapped in his chest behind the vest and the shiny badge. The local sun broke the planet's horizon while they were waiting, and Riddick watched the way Johns shut his eyes against the wash of light. His throat quivered as he hummed the last bars. He was golden and beautiful. Riddick had still been able to see color then.

When the notes died away, Johns turned to Riddick with a smile. He reached over and gave Riddick's arm a friendly slap.

"Nice," the merc said.

And Riddick, mag-locked to the chair, about to be dropped into slam, allowed his own smirk and said, "Not bad."

Even when Johns handed him over to the warden, Riddick looked over his shoulder to grin at the merc one more time. They both knew the double max had no hope of holding him for long. Johns just winked and said, "I'll see you around, Riddick." Riddick looked forward to it.

But the next time they saw each other was the run to Butcher Bay, and Riddick could smell the morphine on Johns the moment he got close. When Johns smiled at him, there was something dangerous in it that had never been there before. For the first time, Riddick balked at being in a ship with him. Johns caught him anyway. Still, it didn't really hit Riddick until the first sleep cycle.

The skiff was different, mid range and not as nice. There were two cots in the back, facing each other, and that's where Johns chained him. There was no fancy mag-lock chair. Johns secured his feet to a ring welded on the floor and his hands to rings welded on the bulkhead. He was upright with enough freedom to straighten his back from the slouch against the wall once in a while. That was about it.

And still, the worst part about it was when Johns came back and sat across from him on the other cot--pulled out that needle and stuck it in his tear duct like Riddick wasn't even there. Riddick watched Johns waver, unable to even sit up as the drugs flooded his system. He didn't open his eyes again until a few minutes later. He looked straight at Riddick and smiled, hollow and dangerous. Bliss and misery all at the same time. He set the needle aside and then held his hands open between them, like he was presenting himself-- _tada_.

Riddick growled, deep in his chest. Johns laughed and fell backward on the cot. He stretched out, wriggling until he was laid out lengthwise. His pants rode down on his hips. He'd lost weight. Riddick shut out the sight and slouched back against the wall again. When he reopened his eyes later, Johns had rolled to face the wall. His shirt had ridden up his back, and Riddick could see the scar. It was a thick loose S inches above Johns' belt line, still tight and red from healing. It was angry looking and accusatory, at odds with Johns' soft snoring. Riddick stared at it for a long time.

It went on like that a second night and then a third. The act was like a taunt. Johns slouched back in his bunk, mirroring Riddick's position and rode the high. Riddick watched him weave in and out for a long time. Once, Johns said, "This is what you did to me." He didn't seem aware of saying it though. Riddick couldn't believe Johns would dose like that with a bounty on board. But then, he didn't believe it when he really thought about it. There was too much going on here that had to be just for him. Maybe Johns wanted him to finish the job. Maybe he should've.

It was hours later that Johns opened his eyes and looked like he was maybe in there again. He blinked owlishly at Riddick a few times. Riddick leaned forward as far as his restraints would allow. His head just poked out of the shadow cast by the overhead storage rack. Looking amused, Johns leaned forward too, miming excitement at the prospect of sharing a secret. Riddick stared at him when they were both out in the green-tinged light. There were hollows in Johns' face and dark smudges beneath his eyes. He stunk like drugs and sweat. And still, he twitched when he leaned forward, flexed his back and tensed in reflex against the pain.

Riddick sighed and said, "I'm sorry."

Johns laughed, incredulous and bitter, and said, "What?"

"It was the worst knife work I ever did," Riddick said. "I've ghosted enough people to know better."

Johns stared at him, the amusement draining away.

"I've killed," Riddick emphasized. "I ain't never unmade a man. Not like this."

Johns flushed red with fury. He stabbed a finger at Riddick and bellowed, "I am a fuckin' man!"

Riddick looked him in his blue, blue eyes and said, "I'm sorry it wasn't clean."

Johns lurched up and swung. He hit Riddick in the jaw so hard that Riddick's head flew back and slammed into the bulkhead. Riddick didn't try to defend himself, and Johns didn't throw again. He stopped when he knew he had his man down, like he always did, with that iron control Riddick had once admired so much. Bounties were almost always worth more alive. A good hunter had to have control. Johns only gave what was necessary--deserved.

Johns didn't even give Riddick another look before turning toward the cockpit and walking away.

* * *

They get Johns back to the ship with the expected amount of cursing. By the time he's on the table in medbay, he's pale and clammy. Boss stays close to him, but the rest of them hang back in the doorway while Stern, their medic, triages. That bone still sticks out of Johns' leg, but now that he's settled on the table, he buttons his mouth shut.

"Gonna need coag and the knitting laser," Stern says, jerking his head. Dahl steps into the small room and rolls a supply cart into position, checking the power supply and gloving up. Stern nods at her before tossing a look to Boss. "Give him something for the pain, will ya?"

Boss turns for a drawer at the same time Riddick lurches out of the doorway and says, "No."

"Fer fuck sake," Johns rumbles from the bed.

"He's gonna need it, Riddick," Boss says, digging in the drawer.

"NO," Riddick yells.

They all turn to look at him. They probably haven't ever heard him yell--not like this. A battle roar, yeah, but that's different--pure animal energy. This is a word with human meaning in it. It has emotion. It makes them all stare at Riddick.

Riddick only looks at Johns. Johns looks back, eyes on fire with rage.

"We've gotta set that bone," Boss says, eyeing Riddick.

The injector of morphine has found its way out of the drawer into his hand, and Riddick stomps up to the other side of Johns' bed to glare at Boss across it.

"This is bullshit," Johns growls, looking past both of them at Stern--the one with medical training. Stern doesn't say a damn thing.

"He can survive the pain!" Riddick snarls. He looks at the hypo in Boss' hands, lets experience weigh heavy on his next statement. "He might not survive that."

Boss looks at the hypo too. Then he looks at his son. Johns looks back at his father with one arm held out, expectant. But Boss hesitates. Johns' eyes widen. He turns on Riddick with his own snarl.

"Ahhh, fuck you. _Fuck you!_ "

Johns swings at Riddick, and Riddick catches his hand, jerking him close with it. He looks Johns in the eyes and says, "Spit at me all you want, but I ain't gonna let it happen again."

Johns goes still beneath him, staring back. There's a long moment where the only thing that moves is the blood that's still seeping out of Johns' leg.

Then, "We're gonna need help holding him down," Boss barks.

"Don't you fucking go anywhere," Johns says, still snarling, clawing at Riddick.

Riddick shakes his head, because he isn't moving. Maybe not ever. He claws back at Johns, trying to get him to stop thrashing. They scrabble for a moment, and when they come out of it, their hands are clutched together, locked like vices between them. Luna and Dahl throw themselves over Johns' hips. Boss takes his legs.

"I'm gonna break both your fucking arms," Johns growls in Riddick's face.

Riddick smiles, and for some crazy reason, Johns smiles back. Riddick gets right in Johns' space until their foreheads touch. Johns' pupils are wide with pain and anxiety, but he just tightens his hands on Riddick that much more.

"Do it. Fucking do it!" he grates out.

The whole bed lurches when Stern shoves the bone back into place. Beneath Riddick's face, Johns opens his mouth and screams. He bites it off and swallows it back down almost right away.

"Look at me. Look at me." Riddick keeps his voice even as he tries to draw Johns' focus back to him.

Johns pants for air, and his eyes keep darting down, toward his leg. Dahl and Luna block his view, but Riddick still wants his eyes up. Riddick flexes his grip on Johns' hands. Johns swallows down a tremor of pain--blinks and focuses on him.

"You ain't shit," Riddick says, face straight and serious as a blade, "until you set your leg yourself with nothing but rocks."

Johns only looks appalled for a nanosecond before he actually laughs. So does Dahl from somewhere down the bed. Riddick offers his best shit eating grin.

"Motherfucker," Johns says almost fondly.

The exhaustion is starting to creep into his voice, and his body relaxes for a moment. He even seems too tired to remove the ghost of the smile from his lips. Then Stern stabs the knitting laser into the open wound on his knee. Johns screams and thrashes so hard he almost throws Dahl and Luna off. Stern loses his place and has to dig inside the wound. Johns heaves, like he's going to be sick, but just falls back onto the bed with a whimper.

Riddick leans over Johns, the sweat gone cold down his own back. He presses his forehead to Johns' again and murmurs. "Almost done. Come on. Thought you were gonna break my fucking arms."

Johns lashes out, giving one crank on Riddick's arms, but it's half-hearted at best. He looks up at Riddick, his gaze swimming and hazy.

"Can't," he says.

Then he goes limp, the pain taking him.

Stern keeps working, but Dahl and Luna step back. Johns isn't fighting anymore. He's unconscious. Riddick knows this, but it takes him a long time to look away. When he does, it's only to turn his head and look down Johns' body to where Boss keeps hold of his legs and stares up at Riddick. Riddick re-discovers self awareness then.

One of his arms lies across Johns' chest, fingers tangled together with Johns'. The other is on Johns' pillow, curved protectively around his head. His entire body is canted over the side of the bed, and his face hovers inches from Johns'. He can feel Johns' breath against his chin. Boss steadies Johns' leg while Stern works, but he keeps his eyes on Riddick, evaluating. Riddick is still disinclined to move. He sighs and shuts his eyes, lowering his forehead to Johns' shoulder.

* * *

"So," Dahl's voice hums from over Riddick's shoulder. Riddick doesn't flinch. She might've thought she was being stealthy, but he heard her coming from two decks down. Riddick stays easy in the chair that half faces the bed in medbay.

"You got a kinda serious thing about Billy the Kid, doncha," Dahl says, her tone amused not questioning.

Riddick turns his head enough to smirk over his shoulder at her, and it's all the warning she gets before he swings an arm out and lands a sharp swat on her flank. She dances away and laughs as she saunters off out the door. Riddick chuckles as he watches her go.

"Please," comes a rumble from the bed. "Refrain from touching my sister's ass, at least in my presence."

It takes Riddick a lot of self-control not to jerk around and pin Johns with a stare, but he manages to lean back into his chair with his usual air of nonchalance before he drawls, "She's not your sister." Only then does he give Johns the satisfaction of a proper look.

Johns' eyes aren't even open, and he doesn't appear to have moved except for the slight curve of his mouth. He's got this smirk that Riddick finds hard to ignore. It's familiar and fits perfectly on his lips. He says, "Well, neither one of us is getting into her pants, so same difference really."

Riddick laughs. "Point to Billy Badass."

Johns' smile widens. "You know, when I was a kid, I tried to get them to call me Will. As you've probably observed, that shit never took."

Riddick hasn't really thought about it before. He's heard the others call Johns "Billy," but to him, Johns is just Johns. Or sometimes, the Blue-Eyed Devil--always over his shoulder, the only merc he couldn't ever quite shake. At least not until 344/G. But now here it is, almost fifteen years later, and somehow he's dealing with Johns all over again. Not that it isn't different. It's lifetimes different.

 _I died somewhere on that planet too_ , Riddick reminds himself.

So maybe Boss was right when he said things would be different this time. The them that came before... neither of them made it. That's not who they are now.

"Will," Riddick says, like he's testing something. "Will Johns."

On the bed, Johns makes a face. "Ah hell. They were right to stick with Billy."

Riddick laughs.

* * *

As far as Riddick can tell, Johns doesn't take so much as an anti-inflammatory during his recovery. He hauls himself out of the medbay the day after Stern knits him together. He at least uses crutches, but only for two days, likely because Stern tells him if he stresses the bone, the knit won't hold. After that, he drops down to one crutch, just enough to keep some weight off his leg while he storms around the ship, pained and pissed about being off active duty. Boss bawls him out for going off on his own in the first place, which doesn't appear to improve his mood any, and when he runs into Riddick in the hall later, Riddick doesn't even question the glare Johns throws at him.

He does, however, sigh and slow down. Then come to a complete stop. Johns keeps clicking down the hallway away from him, but Riddick turns to face him and says, "You know why I did it."

Johns stops walking and looks over his shoulder. His expression goes unreadable, and Riddick leans against the bulkhead. The pain probably isn't that much of an issue anymore. It's been five days. The bone should be about fully healed. It's just the tissue damage that's sorting itself out now. Johns will be fine in a couple more days.

"He must have given you the long version at some point," Riddick says.

When Riddick came to Boss Johns' crew, he and Boss had a long conversation about William J. Johns. It was something they had to get all laid out between them before they could move forward. So Riddick told Boss everything he knew about Little Johns. He didn't spare a single detail, not even how 344/G wasn't the first time Johns tried to put a kid in harm's way to get what he wanted. The combination of the hunt and the morphine turned into an addiction that completely warped whatever Johns might've started out as. Truth was, by the time he stuck Riddick in that transport container on the Hunter-Gratzner, he'd already been dead. There was nothing of him left in the body that was walking around.

 _Maybe I lied to you_ , Riddick said to Boss that night. Maybe he had killed Johns. Maybe it was just the slowest execution in history. Because it started with that shiv in the back. If only it had been clean. Riddick will never forget that accusatory scar staring him in the face, knowing that he'd left a piece inside Johns that was eating him alive.

Thing is, Boss told him he'd seen the medical report. There was nothing in it about anything being left behind. The wound _was_ clean. Severe sure, but clean. There was no piece of shiv in Johns' back.

The little shit had lied. He'd needed an excuse, a reason to keep shooting the dope, keep blaming Riddick.

"I _told_ you he didn't have a spine," Riddick had growled at the end of the whole sad fucking story.

"I've heard it," Johns says, voice sharp in the corridor.

He turns awkwardly on his crutch, facing Riddick and resting all his weight on his good leg. Riddick stares at him for a minute before it really dawns on him what Johns means. That he literally has heard the entire conversation that Boss recorded. For a fleeting second, Riddick feels something like guilt, then he's angry for feeling guilty. Fuck Johns' tender feelings; it's what he fucking did.

"Then you really know," Riddick says, voice unyielding.

Johns smiles a little, and Riddick is glad for his goggles, because that makes him blink. The smile is resigned enough not to be alarming though, so he doesn't tense up when Johns takes a few steps closer.

"Actually," Johns says. "It doesn't really explain you at all, Riddick. See, I have been trying and trying to figure out why you haven't killed me yet."

Riddick blinks again and this time he does tense.

Johns shakes his head a little. "All I ever did was hunt you. Dog every move you ever made. Then do unspeakable things and pin it on you, like everyone else did."

Riddick has no idea where he actually fits in this conversation. He feels lost, like yeah, facts are facts, but someone has put them together the wrong way. They're coming at him from the wrong side of the dialogue.

"I had a brain once. Even then, I had to know most of your charges were a frame-up. Anyone who takes half a look at your sheet can see it all lays out too neat," Johns says. "But I went after you anyhow. Don't know why. Maybe for the challenge."

Riddick still doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what he even could say.

Johns shrugs and looks away. "Maybe you're right. About what you told my dad. Maybe if you cut me open, you'll find something missing. A spine. Or a heart."

"No," Riddick says before he even registers the objection in his mind.

Johns looks up the hall at him, surprised. Riddick takes a few steps to lessen the distance between them, mouth clenched in a strained line. Johns just watches him with wary eyes, like he's not looking forward to it, but he'll take whatever Riddick's going to dole out. He even sets his crutch aside, against the wall behind him, so there's nothing in his hands he can hold up between them. Riddick is still a couple meters away when he stops.

"I told yer old man most mercs are all the same," Riddick says. "And you were like most of 'em. But I lied."

It's Johns' turn to keep quiet as he looks at Riddick, his head tilted a little.

"I never saw a merc anything like you. And it wasn't what was missing that made me hate you. It was what was there--what _warped_ that I loathed."

Riddick doesn't pull his punches. Ever. And Johns doesn't flinch at the blow. He just slides his hands in his pants pockets and leans his shoulder into the wall.

"That's almost kind," he says.

Riddick steps closer again. He closes all the space between them and peels off his goggles, even in the bright light of the polished metal corridor. He lets his eyes flash into Johns' as he leans in. Johns' expression stays bland and neutral, like proximity shielding, but he looks straight back at Riddick, bold as ever.

"Before it turned, before the morphine," Riddick begins, almost menacing, "what was in you was the most beautiful thing I ever saw."

Johns goes almost preternaturally still. He's close though, and Riddick can see into his eyes, the one tremulous telling place that he has. Johns can keep all the rest of it together, hard as marble, but his eyes always give him away. Abruptly, he averts them, like he realizes it. He looks down at the floor but doesn't pull back. Riddick silently congratulates him for holding his ground. Johns' backing down is the only warning sign that scares Riddick like death should.

Johns exhales softly through his nose and says, "Well, now. That is kind."

He shifts his weight, just a little. He still keeps his shoulder against the wall, body slanted into an easy lean to rest his leg. But Riddick can sense the nervous tension in him--new and different from the pent-up irritation that started this conversation. Riddick watches him squirm with it, not that he really does, but it's like he is, under his skin. The questions are almost visible as they build in his throat--making their way so far down his tongue that he opens his lips. Riddick never thought Johns'd rest at well enough. Someone needs to cauterize the flow of this conversation.

"I'd ask you if you remember the way Jack looked at me," Riddick says. "But _you_ never met her."

Johns lifts his head, eyes curious. He only looks a little confused. Riddick feels anger well up, and it wants to lash out at Johns, even though Riddick knows it's got the wrong target.

Still, he says, "She was only so much meat to the other you."

Johns doesn't rise to the bait. Instead he's silent. Again it's his eyes that give him away. They pull down at the corners and flood with sadness, maybe even guilt. For something he didn't do--didn't even think in this lifetime. Riddick wants to shake him. He doesn't know what he expected from Johns. Sarcasm. Anger. Apathy. That's other people though. Johns doesn't make it that easy for him-- not this time.

"You're not the one who failed her," Riddick growls. "You had the decency to be outright vicious and die on that fuckin' rock. She never had any reason to believe in you. She never loved you."

But the way she had looked at Riddick... Riddick won't ever let that go. Because she'd needed _him_. And he let her die, spirit first, until she was just an empty body kicking around. Just like Johns.

Johns doesn't let Riddick look away. He doesn't hide the pain in his eyes either. It's not his own guilt, but it's pain all the same, and it's hard for Riddick to understand. He knows he's had brief flashing encounters with empathy, but he doesn't know what to do in the middle of one. Other people don't feel for Riddick. They feel against him or around him. Johns looks right into him though and feels pain-- _with him_. And it's almost more than he can take. It makes his throat feel swollen and his eyes burn. He can barely see as it is. It's too bright in this hallway. Johns is a pair of eyes surrounded by a corona in front of him.

"She _would_ love you. If she were alive." Riddick's voice is like sandpaper, even in his own ears.

Johns makes a small noise, something low and distressed. But instead of turning away, he leans into Riddick until their foreheads meet. Johns' eyes squeeze closed as if he feels physical pain. Riddick tries to gather his breath to say something more, to explain.

"I've heard enough," Johns murmurs.

"I wish I could see the color of your eyes," Riddick says instead.

"You know they're blue," Johns says softly, but he still opens them.

Riddick tilts his head just a little for a clearer view. "They're the only blue I still remember."

Johns' hands close on the outside of Riddick's shoulders. He doesn't pull Riddick in, but he clutches him there, between his hands, with their heads bowed together. Riddick can hear Johns' heart beat, fast but steady and strong. Johns smells like soap, sweat, steel, and cedar. Cedar from the chunk of wood he keeps in his footlocker. He'll carve a toothpick from it now and again. Mostly though, he just runs his fingers over it whenever he opens the locker, like it grounds him. The rest of the time the scent of it seeps into his gear. Riddick knows Johns by sight and sound and smell and action. Learning Johns by feel is all Riddick has left, and he already knows that's something that could drown him.

Johns sighs. He says, "I understand why you did it. But it's not your responsibility to save me."

"I'm still going to," Riddick says, letting it rumble from deep in his chest so there can be no doubt.

Johns huffs, a small noise of something close to amusement. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Riddick lifts his hands just enough to rest them on Johns' lean hips. He doesn't pull either, just touches lightly to reassure himself. He's lucky for everything that Johns is giving him right now. No one, _no one_ , has ever given him this much lead. Johns closes his eyes and nudges at Riddick with the crown of his head. It's the only motion either of them make for a long time. Riddick almost trembles at the closeness, but he clamps down on it and holds himself steady. Johns sighs and runs his fingers down the outside of Riddick's arm, to the hand that holds Riddick's forgotten goggles.

"All right," Johns says. "Put these damn things on before you go blind."

Riddick wants to stay close enough that he can always feel Johns' pulse, but he forces himself to step back and draw his goggles back over his eyes. Johns retrieves his crutch from where it's been leaning unused against the wall. Riddick stares from behind the darkened lenses and wonders what the hell happens next.

"For the record, we're getting some general anesthesia on this boat," Johns says. "Next time, you put me under before you do that shit. Or at least pick up a hammer and knock me the fuck out."

Riddick chuckles. "Not sure a concussion would treat you much better than a compound fracture."

"Hence the general. I'll go along with this goddamn teetotaling thing, but a general is not against the rules." Johns starts walking away, toward the galley, in the direction he'd been headed originally.

Riddick quietly watches him go.

Johns gets to the bulkhead before he stops and looks back, worried. "It's not, is it?"

Riddick laughs.

Johns rolls his eyes and jerks his shoulder. "Come on. Luna's cooking tonight."

Luna's the best cook on the ship. No one misses his meals, and Riddick has spent way too long alone, protecting himself, when he was made to protect others. He can feel that in the marrow of his bones. That's why the failures are like brands that never heal. _Fry, the Imam, Jack. Johns_. Someone's gotta let him make it right.

And Johns waits, looking over his shoulder at Riddick, patient and forgiving, because he's the one. Riddick follows him.

* * *

Riddick has spent most of his life sneering at the rest of the universe's issues. So it sucks when he has to accept that he has more than a few of his own. Like boundaries. They're something he's always been aware exist, but he's had little regard for them overall. He's worked on it. He really has. For Dahl's sake, primarily. She threatened to gut him if he ever snuck into the head with her and swiped something from her kit again. It isn't that he's scared of her, but it would be a shame if he had to put her down in self-defense. So yeah, there are reasons for things like boundaries.

Riddick still doesn't quite understand the finer details of the rules on that one though. He almost delimbs Boss after Boss delivers him a particularly good whack upside the head. Riddick and Johns are fresh back from a high risk run they took on their own, and Boss crept up and got them both. The thing that stops Riddick from pulling Boss' arm from the socket is that Johns just takes the hit. The thwack lands soundly on Johns' skull and when Boss draws back, Johns rolls out his shoulders and just looks at his father. Apparently this is a boundary Boss is allowed to step all over.

"Sorry, dad," Johns says, tone just on the right side of contrite.

"Boy!" Boss huffs.

But that's where the reprimand ends. Johns smiles at his father, a little reckless, a lot charming, undeniable shades of his old man to reflect back at him. Boss scoffs. But he can't seem to dredge up any more ire. His son is still too precious for him to even stay mad. So he turns his attention. Because Riddick is another story.

"You!" Boss shouts at Riddick.

Riddick wrinkles his brow and tilts his head, because he's starting to get the hang of all this. At least, now, he's able to pick up concern from what Boss is throwin' down. He's getting smacked and chewed out because Boss was worried about them. So he decides to try something.

"Sorry, dad," Riddick says.

Boss gapes like a catfish. Johns starts laughing straight out of his belly. Riddick smirks while Boss looks between them, stunned. Johns steps over to Riddick and throws an arm over his shoulders. He hangs on him, laughing for another beat before he faces his father, wide grin set in place, arm around Riddick proudly. They're partners in crime all right. Boss looks utterly appalled.

"No," he says, pointing a finger at the pair of them. "Hell no."

"Hey, you adopted him all on your own, dad," Johns says, leaning his hip into Riddick.

Riddick grins.

Boss sputters. Then he goes silent. Then his eyes flash and he gives them a serene smile. "All right then," he says. "You're both grounded." He looks satisfied as he turns and walks away.

"Oh come on," Riddick says as Johns lets him go to trail after his dad.

"Yeah, we got the guys," Johns argues.

"All five of them," Riddick adds.

They continue to pester Boss all the way into the galley where the rest of the crew is gathered for chow. They all sit together at one table. Even while he's still laying out an argument to his dad, Johns shovels his spinach from his own plate to Riddick's. Wordlessly, Riddick slides his chocolate pie onto Johns' tray. He doesn't do sugars unless they're in fresh fruit or alcohol. Dahl smirks at them both. Johns rolls his eyes. Riddick marvels that this is his life.

After dinner, they all do their part to clean the galley then scatter around the two tables to discuss where to hunt next. Boss is content to stay in their usual stomping grounds, but Dahl, of course, wants to see new dangerous places. Riddick doesn't have any input on the matter. He's been lost in the universe since he was an infant. He doesn't have any better compass now than he did then. He uses Johns to figure out where he's going these days, and Johns seems content to chase whatever bounty his father puts in his range.

Riddick tunes the debate out. Instead, he studies Johns. Johns seems perpetually young, what with the backup coming from so long ago. But there's also something about him that seems inconceivably old, like nothing in existence surprises him anymore. And why would it with what Johns has seen--with what he knows? A man isn't supposed to know things about himself the way Johns does. But he wears what he knows the same way he wears his tac gear, like he's used to the weight and texture against his skin.

He lounges on a bench with his side against the table. His long damn legs take up the entirety of the rest of the bench. He chews on one of his cedar toothpicks and toys with a massive combat knife, occasionally picking at his fingernails with it. Dahl directs a question at him, and when he answers, Riddick listens to the bass of his voice instead of the words. There's so much comfort in Johns' husk and sprawl. Riddick regrets not being pressed right up against it. He sees where he could fit on the section of bench that's left, just behind Johns. He could slide in against his back, back to back, and Riddick would be fine. He'd sit through this meeting for the rest of their lives.

Because Johns is the home Riddick has never had before. He thinks he maybe caught glimpses of it, once upon a time. But now, he realizes, he's really here.

* * *

Riddick really doesn't think about 344/G anymore. It was a long time ago, and there's nothing left from then to keep churning the memories up. Until Johns walks into the transport bay wearing a white shirt underneath a dark tac vest. They're all there, prepping for a bounty drive through a slum. Maybe the white shirt is all it takes or maybe something in the light catches on the sharp edges of Riddick's memory. But it's like watching a ghost walk by. It's like Johns could disappear again at any moment.

Johns stops to adjust the straps that hold his 12 gauge to his thigh, and Riddick slams into him.

They're close to a wall, and Riddick drives Johns back using both hands on his white-clad shoulders. Riddick is achingly aware of the way Johns' arms _don't_ come up to defend himself. Instead, they splay out behind him to soften his impact with the wall. Riddick pins him to it and stands against him like a shuddering cage.

"Easy, easy," Johns breathes like he's trying to soothe a spooked animal.

And he probably knows he is. Riddick's fingers claw into his shoulders, squeezing like he might just slip away. Riddick is vaguely aware of Johns waving someone back. Everything is quiet around them, and Riddick can hear the harshness of his own breathing. He tries to get his hands to relax but the panic won't let go.

"You're not supposed to be here," he rasps.

"It's all right," Johns says. "Look at me."

He finally raises his arms, reaching up to tug the goggles away from Riddick's eyes. Light shatters Riddick's vision but not enough that he can't make out Johns. Johns looks at him like there is nothing else to see.

"I _am_ here," he says.

Riddick searches his face for a long time, long enough that his hands finally unclench. He turns his head to watch his fingers loosen, and his gaze follows the line of Johns' arm. It's straight but turned out, so Johns' palm faces Riddick, and Riddick can once again see just how unmarked the belly of his forearm really is. Without thinking, Riddick reaches down and touches the spot where the x-marks were. Johns had been so deep in debt to his suppliers that they'd marked him. But the marks are gone. Johns is here, and the marks are gone.

Riddick shuts his eyes and lowers his head. Johns is warm and solid against him, and he's so close that Riddick's chin rests in his shoulder. He's a relief, the biggest relief Riddick has ever felt. Riddick trembles from the release of it. Johns raises that unmarked arm around Riddick's back. He rests his hand on the nape of Riddick's neck.

"I'm not goin' anywhere," Johns murmurs as he holds Riddick to him. "You've got me."

Riddick lets out a short, low whine and closes his hands on Johns' sides. Johns squeezes the back of his neck and leans the side of his head against Riddick's.

"You've got me," he repeats against Riddick's ear.

"Will always have you," Riddick breathes.

Johns puts his other arm around Riddick and murmurs, "Yeah. I know."

**Author's Note:**

> For the most part, Chronicles of Riddick pissed me the fuck off, so you no doubt noticed a distinct lack of necromongers in this fic. Jack being fucked up and dead served my purposes though. This can be read as gen/brotherly love or pre-slash. As I was writing it, while there was no doubt a heavy physical element to their relationship, I nonetheless couldn't find a sexual component to follow, so sorry about that. Lol. I still think they were sexy though! In that tender man love and care sort of way. And, ya know, who knows where it goes from here. (Well, I do. Kind of. We'll get to that. Maybe.)


End file.
